Mmmkff!
by Nova-chan
Summary: Sherlock never shuts up; Mycroft knows how to fix the problem, with the help of Sherlock's scarf.


"I assume you have some idea about why you're here."

"I wouldn't dare hazard a guess, Mycroft. Couldn't you have just called or shot me an email? You know I hate being kidnapped."

"You never take my calls, and you always delete my voicemail and email. You force me to take such radical steps, Sherlock. It's a shame that I have to enlist the Secret Service just to have a friendly conversation with my own brother."

"Yes, clearly this is a friendly conversation." The sarcasm was like a withering fog laced with the faintest hint of apprehension. "I'm bound hand and foot on the floor of a mouldy warehouse and you've towering over me like the villain out of a B horror film."

Mycroft smiled amiably down at his brother. It was good to know that he could still get Sherlock's attention. "The last time I tried to have you picked up, you leapt from the car while in motion and I had to order one of the snipers in the area to stand down."

"Why didn't you just explain the situation to all the little minions that you involved at the beginning? You're so lazy! Feel free to untie me anytime." Sherlock was covertly trying to undo the thick ropes binding his wrists. Damn, ground ops could tie infallible knots!

"Nevertheless, this time I've taken all the proper precautions," said Mycroft. He pulled up a chair across from the spot where Sherlock was kneeling. "Now, on to the purpose of your visit. Are you aware that Mummy is going to be honored this Saturday as Den Mother of the year in Sussex?"

"Oh for God's sakes! Is that the reason I'm here?" Sherlock began to openly struggle.

"You're going to be in attendance," Mycroft said, tone brokered no argument.

Sherlock argued anyway. "The hell I am! I am not going to set aside my investigations on the Partlow case just to see 'Mummy' awarded by the Honor Society of the Little Old Ladies of Sussex!"

"If you don't go, I will allow the paperwork on all your illegal substance charges to go through."

Sherlock shook himself like a rabid, caged dog. "When are you going to stop holding that over my head? I wish you would process those charges! I'd love to see you get the Met on your side right now when I'm so valuable to this investigation." Mycroft and Sherlock stared at one another for a few moments. Unnerved by the silence, Sherlock started up again. "Let me go, you fat wanker! Unlike you and your damned theatrics, I place importance on my time."

Mycroft sighed and typed something into his phone in a fraction of a second. "Well, it looks like you'll be here for a while, Sherlock." He put his phone away and approached Sherlock who visibly flinched back. He quickly overcompensated by growling up at Mycroft, who smiled. "You must be getting a little warm. I'll take off this scarf so you'll be more comfortable."

Sherlock stared at Mycroft's unreadable expression as the elder brother gracefully removed his scarf. Then Mycroft disappeared behind him and Sherlock nervously strained his neck to try to see what he was doing. There was the faint sound of fabric shifting and then everything went still.

"What are you doing back there?" Sherlock demanded. "Making a snack?"

"Sherlock," Mycroft said slowly. Suddenly his minty breath was on Sherlock's neck as he crouched behind his brother. "I find you strangely attractive right now…"

"WHAT?" Sherlock cried, his jaw dropping. Mycroft took the opportunity to shove the knotted scarf into his open mouth and tied it securely behind Sherlock's head.

"Oh, Sherlock, under the right circumstances you are incredibly gullible." Mycroft stepped back to admire his work. Sherlock was beyond furious, trying to push the bulk of the gag out of his mouth with his tongue. He was greatly unsuccessful.

"Mmmkff!" he cursed. He snarled out mangled words that, if comprehensible, would have made Mummy blush.

Mycroft sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his lap. "It's just like when we were children, Sherlock, and I taped your mouth shut because you wouldn't stop screaming. Ah, nostalgia…"

John Watson checked the address he found himself at against the address Mycroft had texted him, along with the message, "Please come and pick up your flat mate." It was the right address, that was certain, so John ventured inside.

In the middle of the dusty warehouse, Mycroft sat peacefully in a folding chair, sipping a little mug of tea. As John approached him, he saw Sherlock, lying on the floor bound and gagged, trying to pull off the gag by rubbing his cheek against the concrete floor. John quirked an eyebrow at Mycroft.

"He was being childish," Mycroft explained. "I thought you might be able to straighten him out."

John blinked. "You tied him up because he was being childish?"

Mycroft chuckled. "Oh, no, I tied him up because he's difficult to kidnap. I gagged him because he was being childish."

"Oh," said John, as if all this was perfectly normal. "Well, can I _un_tie him?"

Mycroft stood up, gathering his umbrella with him. "That's your prerogative now, not mine." He then disappeared in the darkness of the ill-lit room. "I'll see you on Saturday, Sherlock!" he called back.

John knelt down and untied the gag on Sherlock's face. "What's on Saturday?" he asked, once Sherlock could speak again.

Sherlock looked at him in absolute disgust. "Something more horrible than you could ever imagine, John."


End file.
